The Deserters
by TheSODU
Summary: A bitter winter is fostering bitter arguments among the heroes, but is it enough to make two of them desert?
1. Chapter 1: Give me back my scarf

Summary: A bitter winter is fostering bitter arguments among the heroes, but is it enough to make two of them desert?

A/N: Here goes. This is my first Hogan's Heroes fic. Constructive criticism is much appreciated. Please review. Forgive the brief attempts at French. And, of course, I've started this just as I'm about to get very busy, so it might take a while before I update.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish.

Chapter 1:

"I don't bloody well care," Newkirk yelled. "You can 'ave one of mine if you need it that badly."

"It is not funny, Pierre," LeBeau said. "Give me back my scarf. Maman bought that for me!"

"For the last time, Louis, I don't 'ave your scarf!"

Hogan rubbed his forehead standing in the doorway from his quarters. Would Klink really notice if he turned around and sat the day out?

"Alright men, enough of that. What's going on?" Hogan finally asked, as LeBeau continued to stand at the base of Newkirk's cot yelling up at the Englishman.

"He has stolen my scarf again, mon colonel!"

"Oh, for the love a…I didn't steal it, Colonel. What would I want with 'is bleedin' scarf?"

"You did too steal it!" LeBeau said, and then turned to Hogan. "He is mad because I stepped on his foot in the dark on the mission last night. It is absurd! It was an accident."

"Oh, like that coffee you spilled on my shirt Wednesday was an 'accident?'"

"You deserved that! You should never have told Wilson that I..."

"Boys, boys, settle down," Hogan pulled LeBeau away from the bunk.

"They've been at each other all week," Kinch groaned from where he was trying to read at the table.

"Listen guys, I know it's freezing and the sawdust for dinner has been particularly unappetizing lately and London is working us to the bone," Hogan grimaced, thinking about how true all of that was. "But let's try not to make it any worse for each other, OK?

"Fine, you are right, Colonel," LeBeau sighed dramatically. "Now, just give me the scarf Pierre."

"I 'aven't got your scarf."

"Why you…" and the bickering started all over. LeBeau's French accent and Newkirk's Cockney slang got so prevalent in their anger that Hogan was pretty sure that neither of them could even tell what the other was saying anymore. To make it worse, they both had colds and kept sneezing every few words.

"Roll call! Schnell!" Shultz suddenly shouted outside.

Hogan sighed. At least roll call would be 10 minutes where Newkirk and LeBeau couldn't bicker. Hogan kind of was looking forward to it, even if it was horribly cold.

Hogan had been wrong.

LeBeau and Newkirk were poking each other like three year olds and whispering at each other all through roll call. Maybe Hogan could try asking London again if there was any way they could all get a few days off to catch up on sleep. His men were getting agitated, and it wasn't just LeBeau and Newkirk. But if even their dear French-British duo was at war, things were getting bad.

When they finally were dismissed, LeBeau turned to Newkirk and thrust his finger into the Englishman's chest.

"I want it back now."

"Watch where you're pointing that," Newkirk swatted the hand away with a growl.

"Gee guys. Maybe Newkirk really doesn't have it. How about we all..," Carter tried to break them apart.

LeBeau gave Newkirk a shove.

Newkirk pushed back.

LeBeau threw a punch.

"Oww!" Carter was cradling his arm, where it had unintentionally intercepted the punch. He'd been trying to step between his friends.

"Oh, Carter, I'm so sorry! Let me see," LeBeau cried in shock.

"Now 'e's sorry," Newkirk huffed. "Here, let me see it, Carter."

"_I_ am already looking after it," LeBeau said.

"Right, 'cause you can 'elp."

"Of course! And if I had my _scarf_, I would use it to make a sling," LeBeau said as the two turned away from Carter to face each other.

"Again with the ruddy scarf!"

"Just admit you took it!"

"Stop it!" Carter yelled before storming back into the barracks.

"That's enough out of you two. Newkirk, latrine duty. LeBeau, clean out the dog pen," Hogan said. When they looked ready to argue, he bellowed, "Now!"

Yes, nerves were definitely frayed. Even he was yelling now.

Newkirk waited around a moment until LeBeau was out of earshot.

"Sorry, Gov. Can you tell Carter we're sorry, too?" Newkirk asked.

"You guys need to stop this, Peter. Just give him back his scarf."

"I thought you knew me better than that. I wouldn't steal from one of me own mates. What do you all think I am? Some street thief? I'll admit I have sticky fingers, but I thought we were clear that I'd put 'em to good use in the Queen's service."

"Just give him back the scarf Newkirk. I know you were mad and I don't hold it against you," Hogan glanced at the corporal sharply. Newkirk looked a little hurt and didn't say anything for a long while as he walked alongside the colonel.

"Well, you'd better hope you find the scarf before I do. I'm likely to rip it to pieces if I see it."

"I know LeBeau and Newkirk were supposed to escort our defectors to the train station, but I'm guessing that's not such a good idea," Hogan shot them each a look of reprove. "So, Carter, I need you to go with Newkirk."

"Brilliant!" Newkirk cheered.

"Sure, colonel," Carter said, blatantly ignoring Newkirk. He was still upset that his friends had gotten so into their petty argument that they'd just ignored him. His arm really hurt, too!

"OK, let's go over the plan one more time," Hogan said. "Kinch radioed Spring Dipper and told him to bring Dr. Lander and his brother to the rendezvous point. Newkirk and Carter, you'll pick them up there and take them to the train station. You buy them two tickets for the 9 p.m. train to Switzerland and make sure they get the forged papers. Once our dear scientists are on their merry way, you too hurry back here.

"Meanwhile, LeBeau and I will set fire to their rooms so that it looks like that experimental compound of theirs reacted and they died in a chemical explosion. I know you were looking forward to the explosion Carter, but this is just how we're going to have to do this. Everyone got it?"

There was a mumbling of "Yes Sirs," as they changed into their disguises. LeBeau and Hogan were in their blacks and Carter and Newkirk put on civilian outfits.

As they all walked down the tunnel, Newkirk and LeBeau started arguing again.

"You know, it would be nice if you got on the train yourself. London would probably give you a medal for helping the war effort by leaving the rest of us alone," LeBeau said smugly.

"Well, maybe I will," Newkirk replied.

"You two keep this up, and maybe _I _will," Carter said as he passed them and started up the ladder.

"That's quite the fireworks display," Hogan whistled, as he looked over his shoulder back at the building they'd just set aflame. The fire station alarms were already ringing as they made their way back toward camp.

Hogan knew he needed to talk to LeBeau before they got back to the tree stump. Once they were far enough from town, he gently grabbed the Frenchman's shoulder and pulled him to a stop.

"Louis, I know it's been an awful month, but you and Peter need to end this war of yours. Morale is bad enough as it is. It doesn't help when you're so mad you keep burning the stew, and the men can't even bring themselves to play cards anymore after losing most of their money with Newkirk on the warpath. Your friendly banter has been one of the bright spots in this camp since long before I even showed up here. I once heard Corporal Rivers refer to it as the next best thing to a night at the movies. But lately the only show you guys have been putting on is a particularly bad soap opera."

"I know, colonel," LeBeau said quiety after a moment. "We will fix it."

"Good."

"Can you make him give me my scarf back?"

Hogan laughed.

"LeBeau, if we can't find the scarf, I'll take up knitting just for you."

"Colonel. Colonel Hogan, wake up."

Someone was shaking his shoulder, and Hogan was not pleased. It had to be hours before role call.

"Colonel," the voice whispered again, and he identified it as Kinch.

"Whah isss it?" Hogan asked sleepily, trying to sit up.

"Carter and Newkirk still aren't back yet sir."

"What time is it?"

"About 3 a.m. Sir. The train should have left six hours ago, and it only takes an hour to get back from the station, even on foot."

"Damn."

Hogan got out of bed and headed for the tunnels.

They had been sitting in the radio room for a while and Hogan was just debating a search party, when the radio picked up a signal.

"It's Spring Dipper, Sir," Kinch relayed and then paused. "He says that the Landers never got on the train."

"What about our boys?"

"He says Carter and Newkirk took them to the station, but then they disappeared."

Kinch looked to Hogan, wondering how to reply.

"Tell them him we'll come get the Landers and keep them in the tunnels until we figure out what's going on."

LeBeau seemed to have forgotten his fight with the Englishman and was fretting about Newkirk and Carter. He and Hogan met Spring Dipper and the Landers just off the side of the road.

"What happened?" Hogan asked.

"Your men left us! They got on the train with our tickets! You said you would help us! What if my brother and I had been caught?" one of the brothers yelled, although it was a timid yell. Both men seemed very shaken.

"They showed up on my doorstep half an hour ago," Spring Dipper explained. "They said they didn't come back right away because they weren't sure they could trust us after your men left."

"Hold on," Hogan started. "At what point did the men I sent leave? And how do we know you didn't just turn them over to the Gestapo? Talk quickly because I don't want to hang around in case you've got reinforcements coming for us next."

"How dare you! We were promised escape. They will kill us when they find us. We have nothing," the man was growing hysterical. He was either a good actor, or more likely, he was serious.

"OK, fine, I don't know what happened, but we'll hear the rest of this story when we get you somewhere safe. Are you sure you have no idea what might have happened to our men?"

"They are on our train!"

"Pier..They would do no such thing!" LeBeau was fuming and just barely stopped himself before accidently saying his friends' real names.

"Not now. Let's move," Hogan said, thoroughly sick of arguments.

Carter and Newkirk had never shown up. After the first 48 hours they'd finally run out of excuses for Klink. They hoped maybe Klink's escapee search would turn up something they hadn't.

LeBeau was absolutely miserable. Well, they all were.

Meals tasted all the worse without Carter there to make faces as he tried to swallow down the mess hall food. And where was the fun in blowing up a big bridge without Carter around? A little innocence went a long way to brighten up what could be a rather gruesome line of work.

And Newkirk, well, for all his faults, seemed to be have been good buddies with half the camp, Hogan included.

The CO had never realized how much time he spent just casually chatting with the RAF soldier. They had completely different backgrounds, but they got along in an odd way.

The clever corporal seemed to understand him better than anyone else in camp and his easygoing attitude made him easy to talk to when the colonel needed to vent a little. Not that he vented much, but even an officer reached his limit every now and then.

To make it all worse, the Landers' story checked out.

Newkirk and Carter appeared to have taken the scientists to the train station. They bought the tickets, as confirmed by the pretty cashier who remembered the two men with funny accents. The one was shamelessly flirting and the other seemed oblivious and wanted to get going.

Newkirk and Carter returned to the scientists on the chilly train platform but said they ought to hold onto the papers and tickets to keep them safe until the train was ready to leave. Carter saw some hot cider go by in another traveler's hand and tugged on Newkirk's arm, asking if he had any money. Newkirk told the men to wait out of sight near the end of the platform.

The coffee shop owner remembered the pair, too. At least, he remembered the grown man who clapped his hands with glee and asked if he could get marshmallows as his friend ordered one non-alcoholic apple cider and one tea. The friend tried to explain that marshmallows were for hot chocolate not cider, and they got into a rather amusing and cheerful debate.

But the Lander brothers swore they saw Carter get on the train, and someone with the Landers' tickets had indeed boarded the train.

That was where the trail ended.

As it began to look like they had really deserted, the feeling of missing their friends quickly became disbelief and anger. Kinch was furious and Hogan was disgusted.

LeBeau alone was a bit sympathetic. He was convinced that it was his fault, that he'd caused them to snap, and in a moment of folly they'd gotten on the train to spite him.

Hogan replied to that with two four letter words that Carter would have translated as "hogwash."

It was now five days later. Hogan sat down on the bench outside the barracks with an angry thump.

Sure, it had been a rough couple of weeks, but desertion? His mind just didn't buy it, but he knew it had to be true. Just wait until this got out around the camp. He harrumphed and scanned the compound.

Suddenly, he noticed something in the dirt beside the wash basin. He stood and walked over to pick up whatever had fallen out of the basin.

Hogan blinked. It was LeBeau's scarf.

Next chapter title: Would you believe it?

The stalag is just beginning to adjust to live without two of the heroes, but things are never that simple, are they?


	2. Chapter 2: Would you believe it?

**AN: (warning) This story contains Holocaust references. I know this is a sensitive issue and I have done my best to treat it with respect. If this is a subject that makes you uncomfortable, you need to know that this topic becomes central to the plot from this chapter forward. ****Thank you to those who suggested I include this warning. I certainly don't want to upset people by catching them off guard, especially when this is a tragedy so close to so many families.**

SEVEN MONTH LATER

A German guard leaned against the wall of a munitions store house. He was smoking and looked decidedly bored until a loud boom and a cloud of smoke drew him to attention.

The guard paused a moment and then took off across the compound toward the source of the smoke.

The three men crouched nearby in the bushes smiled.

"Alright, make quick work of it Charlie," Hogan whispered.

"Sure thing boss," a thin young man said before darting toward the munitions building with a bag of explosives under his arm.

"It is somewhat disturbing, non?" LeBeau asked.

"Hmm?" Hogan turned to the diminutive Frenchman crouched beside him.

"Young people these days," LeBeau said, shaking his head. "They seem a bit too fond of explosives. Perhaps it is an American thing?"

Hogan laughed, although his eyes quickly grew somber and he hmmed to himself again.

"Ah, I am sorry mon Colonel. I did not mean to bring him up."

Him, of course, meant Carter, and LeBeau wondered when he last had actually said that name aloud. The men had quickly learned to avoid it unless they wanted to sour their CO's mood for the day. This usually resulted in bitter glares and latrine duty.

Everyone in camp had been angry, but Hogan and what remained of his core team had taken it particularly hard. Eventually, though, anger had given way to what could be better summed up as a weary sigh.

By now they had checked all the nearby stalags and Gestapo offices, and there was no sign the two had been captured.

Once the outrage had simmered down it had been replaced by a sort of shock and painful betrayal. Nobody had played poker for nearly a month after the incident, and it seemed to be a strange form of mourning for Newkirk and his quick fingers.

It wasn't just the absence of Newkirk's jibes and Carter's naïve cheerfulness that had moral at an all time low. It was that people they thought they knew had just up and left without a word.

That's how LeBeau felt about it anyway. If someone you considered a friend could do that, what did it say about the rest of the world? It really made you think about people in a different way.

If it had been just Newkirk, LeBeau could almost have let it go. The Englishman obviously struggled with being cooped up more than most of the men, and he'd always been rash with a hot temper. It pained him and LeBeau wouldn't have expected it of Newkirk, but it was at least plausible. Even the best of them sometimes had the urge to just run for the hills on their rougher days.

But Carter, that made him sick just thinking about it. When had the war affected the kid enough to do something like that? Somehow, LeBeau had always assumed that dark things like desertion never crossed the mind of their former munitions expert. It just didn't seem very… Carter-like.

But nothing takes your mind off worries like blowing up a few bridges and impersonating the SS every now and then.

Lebaeu sighed and nearly jumped when Hogan let out a tired breath at nearly the same time.

They both sat quietly for a moment, trying not to think about Carter and Newkirk while they waited for Charlie.

A few minutes passed and Charlie came running out the building, flashing them a dashing smile and a thumbs up. He made it to the bushes, the wire to the detonator trailing behind him.

"Nice work," Hogan gave the private a pat on the back. He gave the nod.

Charlie pushed down the plunger, and they were running through the trees as a series of explosions popped and crackled behind them.

The trip toward the safe house was blessedly free of patrols, and soon they were in the clearing, walking through the dark toward the small farmhouse.

"That was a beauty wasn't it?" Charlie asked walking with a swagger.

Hogan couldn't help but compare him to Carter. Both were likeable kids and loved explosives way too much, but Charlie had a sense of savvy and a self-assured demeanor completely different from Carter's endearing naivety. Goldilocks had sent them a good replacement, if only he could get out of Carter's shadow.

Hogan rubbed his head wishing away thoughts of Carter as he gave the door three quick knocks. Someone on the other side knocked back the reply and then opened the door.

"Hey there Badger. Everything went smoothly. How about on your…" Hogan trailed off as he got a better look at the Underground operative.

The tall farmer seemed antsy.

"Papa Bear, there are men at Little Brook's cottage!"

"Gestapo?" Charlie asked before Hogan could reply.

"I do not know. She does not know who they are, but she seems to have captured them. She just sent a message to one of your men on the radio and he told me to let you know. It sounded urgent."

Hogan wished it could have waited until they'd all gotten some sleep, but he herded his men out the door and asked Badger to let Kinch know they'd check out the cottage on their way back.

"Do you think it's Gestapo?" Charlie asked again as they made their way back into the trees.

Hogan smiled. The kid sure was eager.

"We'll see when we get there."

The lights were on in Little Brook's cottage when they arrived. They edged their way around to the backdoor, and Hogan wrapped out the signal on the wood.

The door swung open without the customary reply knock, and Little Brook rapidly began waving her arms and exclaiming in French. Her German was beautiful, but unfortunately for Hogan, she didn't speak English. She'd just joined the Underground and had taken over the cottage on behalf of an aging agent who was in desperate need of retirement.

"Err, LeBeau?" Hogan gave LeBeau a questioning look.

"She says she came back from town and found two men sitting at her kitchen table eating her food," the corporal explained, glancing back to Little Brook every now and then as she continued with her exclamations. "They do not appear to be German and they will not talk to her, but they know the name Papa Bear."

Charlie and LeBeau looked to the colonel.

"Badger said you captured them?" Hogan asked, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

"She says, yes. She tied them up, mon colonel."

"Well, then let's have a look," Hogan said as he swept through the door and headed toward the firelight in the front room. Charlie gave Little Brook a sly wink as he walked by, and she rolled her eyes. "Les mecs," she muttered.

LeBeau wanted to kick himself. Every time they found someone unexpected in the woods or a contact brought along an unanticipated friend, the Frenchman always caught himself wishing it was his long-gone friends. But even from the back, he could instantly tell these two men were strangers.

They were on their knees in the corner, both is oddly baggy clothes for men as startlingly skinny as they seemed to be. A pile of winter coats, gloves, hats, a pistol and a knife had been thrown in a pile across the room. Little Brook must have already searched them.

And without their hats, it was also clear that the men wore identical buzz cuts, as though they'd shaved their hair off entirely and it had just begun to grow back.

Little Brook turned to LeBeau and began speaking again.

"She say she thinks they are Jews," LeBeau paused, knitting his eyebrows and asked Little Brook to clarify something.

"She said that one of the rumors up north is that all the Jews in the camps have shaved heads."

The men were all aware that Nazis had been rounding up the Jews and sending them off to camps. It was hard to miss, and increasingly disturbing rumors were trickling in from about what exactly went on in those camps.

Hogan pursed his lips and stared at the fire. Could these be escapees from the camps? Maybe they could get information on what really was going on. He turned back to LeBeau to ask him to translate a question for Little Brook, but a dry voice like sandpaper cut him off.

"Not Jewish," the voice said. "Although, Andrew seems to have picked up a fair bit of Yiddish Gov'nor."

Little Brook watched as Hogan and LeBeau's heads slowly turned to the corner, nearly in sync.

One of the men on his knees was staring at them over his shoulder with a mischievous grin and twinkle in his eyes that just looked completely off on that gaunt face. But it was a decidedly familiar smile. The room was silent for a moment more.

"Pierre? Is it really you mon ami?" His eyes weren't tearing up, no, definitely not, LeBeau told himself as he wiped at them with his feet still frozen on the spot.

"Well, would you believe it Andrew!" Newkirk said with an exaggerated sigh. "A bloke goes and gets his hair trimmed a bit, and me best mates don't even recognize me!"

His rough voice suddenly broke into a coughing fit. The man beside Newkirk (was that really Carter?) suddenly reached over to rub Newkirk's back with concern until the cough stopped.

Little Brook suddenly shrieked something, pointing at the men on the floor.

Hogan seemed to snap out of a daze and looked to LeBeau.

"She says she tied their hands and now they are free. I told her it doesn't matter," LeBeau said, taking a step toward Carter and Newkirk.

"Uh, guys, a little explanation would be dandy about now," Charlie suggested.

LeBeau ignored him, and suddenly rushed past Charlie and Little Brook. He dropped to his knees and pulled Newkirk and Carter into a hug.

"Vous idiots," LeBeau cried into Newkirk's shoulder. "J'ai été inquiété! Je vous ai pensé avait déserté. Vous idiots fou! "

"Well," Hogan smiled to himself as he approached the huddle. "I guess it's hard to stay mad."

And then it struck Hogan that if Newkirk and Carter were here and not in Switzerland, things hadn't gone how they'd thought.

"Peter?" he asked.

"Long story, Gov."

"A really fucking long story," another voice added.

It took Hogan and LeBeau a few seconds to realize that Carter had just cursed.

Next Chapter title: I think I'll take the next train

Newkirk and Carter wound up on a train alright, but it sure wasn't headed for Switzerland.


	3. Chapter 3: I'd prefer the next train

**AN: Again, please note that this story involves the Holocaust. Please proceed with caution if this is a subject you are uncomfortable with. It's going to get pretty grim at points.**

**Thank you for all the reviews. As noted before, I'm going to be really busy for the next month, so I'm not sure when I'll have a chance to post again. I wanted to get the first few chapters up so you weren't left with too torturous of a cliffhanger.**

Newkirk and Carter were now sitting at Little Brook's table, and Hogan didn't like how stiffly and slowly they'd moved to get there. Carter seemed a bit sturdier than Newkirk, but that wasn't saying much. When they stood up, their skeletal build was even more noticeable.

LeBeau was hovering and fussing.

Hogan looked to Newkirk again now that they were settled for the moment.

"So, what happened at the train station?"

"We ran into some Gestapo trouble and escaped into even worse trouble," Carter replied.

Hogan was startled a bit by Carter answering the question that had been directed to Newkirk. Carter was talkative enough, but he normally left things like debriefings and strategizing to the other men. Newkirk didn't seem phased and his eyes had drifted off a bit to where LeBeau was trying to explain what was going on to Charlie. They'd never really spoken with him about his predecessors.

Hogan took in Newkirk's faraway look.

"Are you feeling ok, Newkirk?" the colonel asked.

"He's feeling fine, Sir. We even had a bit of time to rest until we were interrupted by that woman. We thought old Lionheart would be here. We didn't mean to surprise the lady. Nothing happened to Lionheart did it?" Carter asked. Newkirk redirected his eyes back to the conversation and a corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile as he listened.

"No, Lionheart retired," Hogan explained. "But, Newkirk, are you sure you're ok? I mean, other than clearly needing some sleep and food."

"Sleep and food would be nice," Carter said. "Newkirk hurt his left wrist the other day, so maybe Wilson should take a look at that, and I think we've both rather abused out feet over the last few weeks. Newkirk thinks we're probably dehydrated, too, with how hot it is."

"Carter, while I appreciate the information, why aren't you letting Newkirk speak for himself?" Hogan asked, looking between his friends. They both seemed a bit startled by the question.

Newkirk opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but then closed it and looked to Carter.

"Oh, Newkirk usually doesn't really talk," Carter explained as if this were common knowledge.

"Wait what?" LeBeau asked, coming back over to the table. "It is impossible to get him to shut up! Oh, no offense mon ami, but it is the truth."

He seemed worried he'd caused offense, but it was clearly said with affection.

"Carter, explain," Hogan prompted him.

"Ah, well, it's not that he doesn't like to talk your ear off," Carter said. "He sort of, well, it's his throat. It kind of hurts for him to talk, so I normally do the talking."

"He has bronchitis?" Hogan asked worried.

"No, no, somebody tried to strangle him. It happened months ago. Long story," Carter said, again much too calmly for Hogan's liking. LeBeau was suddenly at Newkirk's side trying to inspect his neck and fussing. Newkirk bent his head down and seemed to be silently chuckling with amusement.

"He says it's fine LeBeau, but maybe Wilson can do something about it. No need to be a mother hen," Carter said with a smile. Newkirk shot Carter an accusatory look that seemed to say that one mother hen was already bad enough.

"Strangled?" Hogan asked weakly, not happy that someone had attacked his men and he hadn't been there to protect them. His eyes were stuck on Newkirk with worry.

"Someone tried, Sir. Thankfully, they failed. Like I said, long story."

"You guys keep saying that," Hogan let loose a weary sigh, as he sat down onto the chair next to Newkirk. "Tell me what happened at the train station."

As Carter and Newkirk walked back from the café at the station, Carter suddenly jerked to a stop in front of Newkirk.

"'ey watch it Carter," but Newkirk trailed off as he followed Carters line of sight to the ticket booth, where a crowd of Gestapo agents appeared to be interrogating people. The pretty cashier they had spoken with earlier had thankfully left, but the Gestapo appeared to be talking to the manager.

They hoped they hadn't left enough of an impression to be remembered. The fact that the buyer was not the same as the person listed on the train manifest would look fishy if the Gestapo was searching for a deserter or a defector. It didn't matter whether the Gestapo was looking for their defectors or someone else. They didn't want the Gestapo snooping around.

Most ticket managers had been trained to watch for unauthorized travelers what with the war on, so they kept a sharper eye out than most. This wasn't good.

A booming voice that seemed used to giving orders caught their attention – Major Hochstetter was at the front of the crowd and he seemed to be asking the manager to look through the ticket records.

Then, the ticket manager glanced up, caught Newkirk's eye and suddenly pointed right at them. Newkirk yanked Carter around the corner back out toward the street before even checking to see if the Gestapo was following.

"This is bad," Carter said, and Newkirk smiled a bit at the statement of the obvious.

"I don't think Hochstetter could have possible 'ad the chance to recognize us as us. They just think we're in league with whoever they're after, in which case I've got an idea," Newkirk said as they rushed out of the station. They made a couple of turns in an attempt to lose any pursuers.

They slowed down at the exit, not wanting to arouse suspicion from the line of Gestapo cars parked along the street. Newkirk let out a whistle at the number of cars.

"I think we're in luck Carter. It seems like they're after someone bigger than the fellows we brought."

Newkirk glanced around, and finally seeing what he was looking for, began walking quickly to the left.

He stopped in front of a pair of street bums sitting on the curb.

"Hello there, listen, my friend and I here have decided to start a charity program to help the disadvantaged get out of war zones. We'd like to offer you two tickets to Switzerland and two nice warm winter coats," Newkirk launched into German.

It wasn't the best cover story, but the scraggly men half shaking from cold and half shaking from liquor didn't seem overly critical.

Newkirk started taking off his coat and Carter followed suit, catching on. Once the two strangers were dressed in their coats and had the tickets, Newkirk urged them to move quickly to catch the train. A line of Gestapo rushed out of the building and Newkirk and Carter ducked behind a pillar trying to look casual.

The Gestapo rushed over and grabbed the two men dressed as Carter and Newkirk. There was a bit of a scuffle.

"They're our tickets! Ours! You can't have them you fiends," one of the bums was shrieking.

One officer turned to another, "Sir, I think they're, err, well, drunks."

"Yes, they don't look like the men Mayor Hitzig hired at all," the officer groaned, still panting from the chase. "Release them, but see that they get on the train without handing the tickets off to anyone else. They're just a pair of fools."

The Gestapo slowly retreated back inside.

"Now what? We've got 30 minutes 'til that train gets out of here," Newkirk groaned.

"What about trying the ticket counter on the other platform?" Carter suggested.

"Carter, sometimes you're a bloody genius! Come on."

They carefully rushed as quickly as they dared to the platform at the opposite end of the station. They encountered more guards who appeared to be turning people away at the entrance to the platform (perhaps they'd shut down all the exits in search of this Mayor Hitzig fellow?), but Carter and Newkirk quickly managed to slip by them.

This platform was typically used for commercial cars, primarily carrying coal, cattle and military supplies these days. But today it was unusually crowded with civilians, and the place was crawling with SS officers.

"What do you think is going on, Newkirk?"

"I dunno, Carter. But I'll take my chances against the SS before risking running into our favorite Gestapo major."

They carefully made their way through the crowd to the ticket counter. There was something eerie about it all. For such a crowd, it was strangely quiet, and the SS seemed to be guarding them, almost like prisoners. Every now and then, the noise would pick up until an officer shushed them.

It was men, women and children laden with bags as though they'd attempted to pack everything they owned.

"Excuse me, I need two tickets for Switzerland," Newkirk said once they reached the counter.

The clerk stared at him a moment and then laughed nervously. An officer stepped over.

"Think you're a funny one do you?"

"No, Sir. Just trying to get a ticket. The line was kinda long on the other platform," Newkirk replied casually.

"That's enough. Get back in line you two."

"Wait, we're not with these…folks," Carter said, not exactly sure who "these folks" were.

"Like I said, we just cut over from the other platform, but we can head back over there now if you'd like. The line wasn't that bad, right?" Newkirk was quickly getting nervous about whatever was going on here, and all those eyes in the crowd just kept staring at them. This was definitely not the inconspicuous solution to their troubles that he had hoped for.

"Lying Jew. Get back in line. This entire platform is sealed off. It is just Jews and German soldiers."

"Now look here," Newkirk said nervously. What on earth was going on here? He knew the Nazis were big into superior races, but why did it look like they were ready to load the entire Jewish population of the county into cattle cars? He wondered in Hogan knew anything about this. He could really use the colonel's help right now.

"Do I look like a Jew?" he tried again. "And look at my friend Hirsch here. Never was there a finer example of the good ole Arian race."

"You are all the same. As if we didn't know that some of you look less Jewish than others. And you clearly sound like a Jew, not a proper German."

Newkirk was fairly sure his Cockney accent didn't sound much like a Yiddish accent even in German, but he wasn't about to announce himself as British in a station full of SS and Gestapo officers. Sure, they had some forged papers, but he didn't want to test the quality of the forgery at the moment. He also had the Landers' papers in his pocket, and he didn't want to pull out the wrong ones.

The officer was starting to finger his gun, but Newkirk was fairly certain hey didn't want to get in those lines. He tried to weigh their options."

"I hear there is a Gestapo major here today," the officer said. "Do you want me to call him over to inform him that I have a pair of particularly troublesome Jews?"

That was the last thing they needed, and they were already drawing way too much attention.

"Fine," Newkirk pulled Carter into one of the lines. They'd just have to find a chance to slip away later.

"Diefenbaker, keep an eye on those two. They seem to think they're going somewhere."

An officer followed them to one of the lines. After a few moments, an elderly woman turned to them and whispered something in Yiddish.

"Sorry, miss, do you speak German?" Carter asked politely.

She shook her head sadly and everyone began whispering around them.

A young man about Carter's age slipped over to them.

"I saw you come in. What were you thinking? You really aren't Jews are you," the man had an intelligent glint to his eyes. Unlike them, his long nose and dark curly hair were a dead giveaway.

"No we aren't. What's going on here?" Newkirk asked. Maybe they should stick around long enough to gather information.

"No one knows. They won't tell us anything. Most of these people are not even from Germany. The rumor is we are being taken to a different camp. My father," here he gestured a few lines over, "thinks they are taking us to Poland. I hope not, but my name is Asher. My family calls me Anshel. Who are you?" Asher offered a handshake.

Carter grabbed the hand with a smile.

"We're just to fellows trying to get our friends on a train to Switzerland," Newkirk sighed in frustration.

Suddenly a whistle blew and the crowd began pressing in as the officers herded them toward the cars. Asher gave a cry of alarm and tried to move back toward his family.

"No you don't kid," said the same guard who had been tasked with watching Newkirk and Carter. "Stay in your line."

"But…" the young man started.

"Schnell. Stay in your line," he shoved Asher toward the car with the butt of his rifle.

The silence had turned into chaos. People were yelling and crying all over the platform. Carter looked like he might cry himself.

"Gosh, this is terrible," he said. Asher gave him a funny look, and Carter realized he'd said that in English.

They continued to be shoved toward the cars with Asher getting up on his toes trying to keep an eye on his parents, sister and grandmother. Newkirk was looking everywhere for an exit, but it was flat out impossible. Even shouting out that they were Allied spies probably wouldn't have gotten a reaction at this point.

The men had nearly reached the front when the crowd paused and the doors were shut. Carter breathed a sigh of relief as the train pulled forward, although he grimaced at all the hands reaching out through slats in the side of the cars.

As the train left, the crowd was still being slowly pushed forward and suddenly there was a scream in front of them. Newkirk pushed forward to see what it was, but it was difficult as the front of the crowd started desperately pushing backwards. Someone was bloody well going to get trampled in this mess.

Newkirk broke through the front and saw what the cries were about. One row over the pressure from the crowd had shoved a small child onto the tracks. The little boy's cries for his mother were drowned out by the masses. An SS officer was restraining what had to be the mother, a woman desperately screaming and struggling to break free. It was a wonder the officer and the woman hadn't fallen onto the tracks as well with the woman wriggling like that, but just as Newkirk had that thought, they were inadvertently shoved over the ledge as well.

Without really thinking, he jumped down onto the tracks and rushed over. He picked up the little boy and walked a few feet down the track looking for somewhere where the crowd wasn't as bad. That was when he spotted the next train of cattle cars slowly approaching the station. They had maybe seconds.

He hurriedly shoved the boy up into the crowd's arms and turned to the mother, but he came face to face with the German officer's pistol.

"You will boost me up first!" the man ordered, terror in his eyes.

Without time to argue Newkirk did what he was told. The officer disappeared into the crowd, determined not to be anywhere near the tracks again. Newkirk looked to the woman lying unmoving where she had fallen on the tracks. Had she hit her head?

But suddenly a pair of hands was yanking on Newkirk's arms. He looked up to see a terrified Carter, leaning down toward him.

"No time." Asher said over Carter's shoulder. They both reached down and heaved Newkirk back onto the platform with a monumental burst of adrenalin prompted by the train that swept past them a second later. People winced and turned away from where the woman had still been on the tracks.

Then the doors were opened and the crowd was moving again. And suddenly something was shoved into Newkirk's arms. He looked down to see the boy he had just rescued and then looked up at the person who had pushed the child at him.

"No, wait, I don't know him. Where's the rest of his family," he yelled over the crowd.

The man smiled at him, not understanding. He said something in Yiddish and then disappeared back into the crowd.

Newkirk clutched the now crying child to the chest, looking around as though the family might magically appear. But his view was limited as they were shoved backwards into one of the cars. It took only a few moments for it to grow overcrowded, and then the doors were shut. It was freezing and dark, other than a few beams of light from the slats near the roof.

One woman was pounding on the wall. It was hard to tell whether she just wanted out or whether she too had been separated from her family. Everyone else had quickly grown quiet.

Newkirk had grabbed a spot where he could lean against the wall since there were no chairs, but Carter pulled him back to the center as the train jerked into action.

"It's going to get cold," Carter explained. It was a practical suggestion, but Carter's eyes looked haunted, as though he had already calculated how long it would take for the people around the edges of the warm clump of humans to develop frost bite.

You wouldn't think a look could be disturbing after what they'd just been through, but Newkirk felt his stomach sink at the gleam of understanding in Carter's eyes. Carter seemed a bit dazed as well.

It was silly really with how much destruction the heroes saw, but there was sort of an unspoken rule that they all tried to shield their rather innocent friend from the uglier aspects of humanity.

Perhaps Carter would have been better prepared for this if they hadn't babied him. Newkirk shook his head. No, nothing could prepare a person for this.

A woman's voice spoke up from behind them, and they tried to turn without jostling the people around them too much. She was speaking Yiddish…or Hebrew, they really couldn't tell the difference.

"She says you did a very brave thing," Asher translated.

"Oh, I am sorry, you don't speak our…" she trailed off in German, giving them a curious look.

"Long story," Carter sighed, and then he turned to Newkirk with a whisper. "We're going to miss roll call, aren't we?"

"It's looking that way," Newkirk frowned. "I wonder what happened to the 'friends' we left on the platform. But that's the least of our worries now, I guess. You stick close to me, alright Carter?"

Suddenly the boy in his arms squirmed, although the child seemed oddly composed for what he'd just been through.

"Où est maman? S'il vous plaît me mettre maintenant. "

"Well, I'll be. He's a frog." Newkirk exclaimed in surprise.

"He's kinda cute. Can we keep him?" Carter asked, giving Newkirk puppy eyes.

"I don't think we have much of a choice."

PRESENT

"What was his name?" LeBeau asked, terrified but fascinated by the story.

"Pierre of all the irony, Georges-Pierre Dassault," Carter smiled at the memory.

Hogan seemed aghast that anyone could smile after telling a story like that.

"You've got to have a little happiness in dark times if you don't want to go mad," Newkirk explained, as though reading the colonel's thoughts. Carter shot Hogan a glare as if it was his fault Newkirk had spoken and was now massaging his throat a little.

"What happened then? How did you escape?" Charlie cut in, seeing the tension but ignoring it.

"Uh, well, a lot happened before we escaped," Carter started.

"We only got away three weeks ago," Newkirk added.

Carter did not seem pleased.

"You're going to make yourself ill talking so much," he said.

Newkirk shrugged. Carter shot him a look. Newkirk raised an eyebrow. Carter frowned. Newkirk tilted his head. Carter…

"Knock it off you two. The rest of us aren't psychic," Hogan grumbled.

"Ah sorry, Sir. It's just habit," Carter scratched the back of the head. "I guess we all kind of got used to it with Newkirk not talking much. I mean, he hadn't said anything at all for a week before we got here."

Hogan felt a headache coming on. For the time being, he just wanted his men safe back in the tunnels where he could keep an eye on them and have Wilson look them over.

"Alright, we need to get out of here before roll call," Hogan stood up from the table. "It's clear that you didn't desert, at least. We'll hear the rest of the story in the tunnels."

"You thought we deserted?" Carter asked, incredulous.

"Long story," Hogan threw back.

Charlie laughed as he opened the door to lead the way outside.

"This is all sounding pretty grim, but you lot are quite the show," Charlie said. "I'll bet things were never dull back before I got here."

**AN: **Thanks for reading this far. I'm trying to keep things accurate, but I'm not a scholar of the Holocaust so please be forgiving. The camp where they're going won't be a real one from the history books just like the stalag wasn't a real one. That gives me a little more liberty with the plot, but I'll try to base it on actual camps.

Also, when they talked about marshmallows in the last chapter, that was a theoretical debate. Carter was optimistically asking if they had them. Of course, it is the middle of the war on and no one has marshmallows.

And if you noticed that Newkirk's accent randomly disappeared, it's because he's mostly speaking German in this chapter.

Please review!

Next chapter title: What number did you get?

The heroes try to figure out how to explain the reappearance of Carter and Newkirk, and Carter continues the story with their arrival at the concentration camp.


End file.
